Andrew Peterson - First to Kill

“Frank didn’t tell you that part?”

“No, Nathan, he didn’t tell me that part, and I didn’t ask.”

More silence. He knew his father was wondering why he hadn’t been told. In Washington, information was power. “Look, these guys have to be found and interrogated. You want every ounce of that Semtex accounted for, don’t you? Especially after today?”

“The FBI has its own people for that. They don’t need you.”

Nathan sighed.

“You need to back off and let the FBI handle things from here. I can’t-”

“You can’t what?”

“All right. I can’t protect you if you continue down this road of vengeance.”

“It’s not vengeance and I don’t need your protection.”

“You’re not in the CIA working on foreign soil anymore. This is the United States of America. You can’t just grab people off the street and interrogate them.”

“Watch me.”

“Damn it, Nathan. This isn’t Nazi Germany. Your brutal methods are illegal and insidious. Let it go. This isn’t your fight.”

“The hell it isn’t. One way or the other, the Bridgestones are going down. If the FBI finds them before I do, that’s fine with me. So you called to warn me off, is that it?”

“If you persist with this manhunt of yours, you could go to prison and I won’t be able to help you.”

“Like you helped me in Nicaragua?”

“That’s a hateful thing to say. I had no idea where you were being… held.”

“You can say it, Dad. It’s just a word. Tortured . You had no idea where I was being tortured. For three weeks.”

“They… I couldn’t find you.”

“Oh? Harv found me.”

No response.

“And guess how he did it? He grabbed people off the street and interrogated-”

“I know how he did it,” Stone interrupted.

“Yeah, well, there’s a big difference between you and Frank Ortega. Frank Ortega did everything possible to find his missing grandson, even bend the precious Constitutional rights of a couple of shit birds in the process. I don’t need you to lecture me on violating human rights, I’ve had firsthand experience with it.”

“Clearly it was a mistake to call.”

“ Clearly . One last thing. I debated telling you, but what the hell. The Bridgestones know I was the shooter who killed their little brother. They also know you’re my father. That makes us both targets. So you watch yourself, Senator, because clearly , this isn’t over.”

Nathan ended the call and hurled his cell onto the bed. He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and tilted his head back. He was vaguely aware of Harv shifting his weight in the chair near the window. After a good minute of silence, Nathan said, “I guess I didn’t handle that very well.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I let him get under my skin. I should’ve known better.”

“Yes, you should’ve.”

“Well, aren’t you just overflowing with good advice.”

Harv grinned at him. “Did you know your ears turn red when you’re angry?”

“You know, I honestly didn’t.”

“Well, they do. Go take a look in the mirror and don’t break it, okay?”

“Cute, Harv.” Nathan walked into the bathroom and flipped the switch. He looked at himself in the newly replaced mirror, turning his head from side to side, getting a good look. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. He splashed some water on his face and rested his weight on the counter.

“Make sure you wet your ears,” Harv called from the other room. “I wouldn’t want you to burst a blood vessel. Those damned cauliflowers are ugly enough.”

Three thousand miles away, Stone McBride replaced the handset into its cradle and shook his head. How the hell did the Bridgestones know Nathan was the shooter and why hadn’t Frank told him what they’d done to James? Stone wondered what else he hadn’t been told. What a mess.… As if his life and this Semtex business weren’t complicated enough already. He hit the intercom button. “Heidi, I need to speak to FBI Director Lansing again right away. I also need Kevin Ramsland on the line.”

It was obvious his son still held bitter feelings about what had happened in Nicaragua, and rightfully so, but Stone knew those feelings were misdirected. Despite what Nathan said, he had made a genuine effort to find him. During Nathan’s captivity, he’d called CIA Director Kallstrom dozens of times, asking for updates, asking if there was anything he could do that wasn’t already being done, and he’d received the same answer every time. Stone was essentially told the situation was delicate in nature and that we’re doing everything possible to find your son.

To some degree, he’d understood Kallstrom’s position. The presence of a covert CIA sniper team working in Nicaragua would’ve been a major scandal, and sending a SEAL team in involved considerable risk of exposing that scandal. Besides, no one knew where Nathan was being held. Containment could’ve been lost. So why hadn’t it become a scandal? They had Nathan. Surely they must have known he was CIA. They’d had three weeks to wring it out of him. And they had tortured him to the brink of death. He didn’t like thinking about it.

Stone shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Now wasn’t the time to rattle this cage. If his son wanted to blame him for what happened, so be it, there was nothing he could do about it, but for now, he had more important things to worry about. If Nathan pursued this reckless manhunt of the Bridgestones and broke laws in the process, he was on his own. Impatient, he hit the intercom button again. Heidi informed him she was still waiting for return calls from Lansing and Ramsland.

“I also need you to call Commissioner Robert Price. I want the security patrolling all the Senate and House buildings tripled. If he gives you a hard time about it, put him through to me. And needless to say, no one talks to the media. I’ll personally skin anyone who even looks at a reporter.”

“Yes, Senator. I’ll see to everything right away.”

On impulse, Stone picked up the phone and called Frank Ortega.

“Hello.”

“Frank, it’s Stone.”

No answer.

“You okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. Why would I be okay?”

Stone didn’t respond. All he heard was the chime of Frank’s regulator clock in the background.

Finally Frank spoke. “Why didn’t your people know about the tunnel?”

The question caught Stone by surprise and he was shocked at the accusatory tone. They weren’t his people, the FBI had conducted all aspects of the operation. Maybe it was better if he ended this call as soon as possible. “Look, I just wanted see how you were doing. We’ll talk later, okay?”

The line went dead. Frank Ortega had hung up without saying good-bye. Stone felt sucker punched. Frank Ortega, a man he’d known for forty years, had just sounded like a complete stranger. For the first time in his life, he felt like an intruder, not a close friend. Maybe he just needed time, Stone reasoned. This was the second tragedy in his family. First his daughter, now his grandson. It had to be tearing him up.

Stone pivoted back to the muted television and shook his head at the endless parade of talking heads analyzing the bombing from every conceivable angle. The nation’s first big terrorist attack since 911wasn’t from Al Qaeda. Domestic terrorism now occupied center stage and the negative political fallout was going to land on his shoulders, especially after his press conference trumpeting the seizure of a huge stockpile of illegal Semtex. To make matters worse, his Committee on Domestic Terrorism had been created to prevent this very thing. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? In his defense, everything he’d read in the file about the Bridgestones hadn’t led him to believe they were capable of such a cold-blooded act. So why had they done it?